


Furry Road

by TravellersAll



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies), Zootopia (2016)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:47:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22672000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TravellersAll/pseuds/TravellersAll
Summary: “My name is Max. My world is fire. And blood. Once, I was a cop; a road warrior searching for a righteous cause. As the world fell, each of us in our own way was broken. It was hard to know who was more crazy. Me... or everyone else.  Here they come again. Worming their way into the black matter of my brain. I told myself... they cannot touch me. They are all dead.  I am the one who runs from both the living and the dead. Hunted by scavengers. Haunted by those I could not protect. So I exist in this Wasteland. A canine reduced to a single instinct: survive."An aged Grey Wolf finds himself drawn back into civilization, such as it is, and finds himself roped into helping a clever one-armed Arctic Wolf escape from the monster she claimed to serve.
Relationships: Capable/Nux (Mad Max), Furiosa/Max Rockatansky
Comments: 6
Kudos: 7





	1. Chapter 1

“ _My name is Max. My world is fire. And blood. Once, I was a cop; a road warrior searching for a righteous cause. As the world fell, each of us in our own way was broken. It was hard to know who was more crazy. Me... or everyone else. Here they come again. Worming their way into the black matter of my brain. I told myself... they cannot touch me. They are all dead. I am the one who runs from both the living and the dead. Hunted by scavengers. Haunted by those I could not protect. So I exist in this Wasteland. A canine reduced to a single instinct: survive._

“ _Centuries ago, the scientists warned us. They said our self-destructive waste would lead to nothing more than death. Well, they were right. First came the fallout. The burning flesh and land alike. Fuel, necessary to move our vehicles, to heat our homes, went next as infrastructure failed. With the fall of industry, water became scarce. Then, almost as a final nail in our coffin, the sun stopped in the sky for forty days._

“ _At least, that is the story_ _mammals_ _tell themselves. The_ _scientists_ _haven't been seen, nor heard from in over fifty thousand days._ _Peace_ _is but a memory in those old enough to remember. Now, we live off what sustenance we can scrounge up.”  
_  
Grey fur under a battered leather jacket bristled, the hot wind of the rising sun burned through the thick layers. Deep in his head, images flashed, images of death, of pain, of suffering he both had, and had never been witness to. Centuries of life he didn’t know if he had lived, but couldn’t say he hadn’t, burned into his grey-matter like a brand, of a life as an officer of the law, of his brother, possibly, sitting beside him in a patrol interceptor. Not an interceptor. The cruiser, only, it was the cruiser he stood next to, and that was an interceptor. He snarled at the memory, “Goose. Go away.”  
  
That seemed to work, or maybe it didn’t. He really couldn’t tell. The two-headed mutant lizard he had stepped on moments before was barely enough sustenance to get him through to noon. Or maybe it was too much. So long alone was starting to deteriorate his instincts. He knew he was going feral, but then, if he knew it, was it true?

An engine roared in the distance, and for a minute, he wondered if it was real. Turning slowly, he saw the approaching dust cloud. Raiders. Real. Maybe. He decided it was better to be safely alone than captured if he was wrong, and threw his bedroll through the window of his vehicle before climbing in after it. The engine coughed as it tried to spark on plugs half a century old, or were they newly installed. His brain continued its internal conflict as the engine finally stopped choking, roared, and grabbed the wheels. Dirt and gravel spat up behind the painfully loud straight-piped engine, an undertone of a perfectly tuned manifold ringing in his brain, and the vehicle leaped from a stop, screaming down the hill towards the plains ahead.  
  
The wolf knew that if the raiders were real, they were only seconds behind him. They wouldn’t stop. Any source of guzzoline in the waste was valuable. And his 50 gallon drum was a VERY valuable source. One pulled up alongside him, the lancer, as they were called, leaning out excessively far. No seatbelt. He snarled through the window and swerved, touching the panel with his tire and forcing it to bark up off the ground. The other vehicle spun out, but he found himself carrying through the swerve too far. Noise blasted into his ears, forcing him to curl up, an act which would have killed him, had there been an airbag in the world that still worked. Instead, it worked in his favor, protecting his skull as his interceptor landed roughly on its roof, a massive dent in the driver’s side door where one of the raider trucks had struck it. As he lay there groaning, he looked to his side. Goose was hanging out there too. But Goose wasn’t there. Goose was dead. Goose had died in his arms, skin crusted like overcooked bacon, fur charred off. He screamed as everything went black.  
  
–  
  
_My name is Nux. It is written on my wheel, on my car, and on my boost. I am a half-life War Boy of the great Immortan Joe. He who saved me from the pits, who raised me up to grant a chance at immortality alongside him in Valhalla. Broken, but not yet dead, we ride. We ride to Valhalla on wings of steel and rubber. Pursuit is in our blood, prey is anyone weaker than ourselves. I ride triumphant today!_

The black-footed ferret grinned and knocked on the roof of his car. A heavily modified sand-buggy, it was his pride and joy, his one true possession, his passion. Above him, standing lazily on the Lancer Perch, his near-brother stood. “SLIT! Gitcher ass up. We’re close!” The weasel above him let out a strange sort of half yawn, half war cry as he took to his duties. With a roar, the engine drew them up close and Nux heard Slit preparing to throw a boom-stick at the front end. Unexpectedly, the prey jinked, sending his vehicle skidding off to spin out. Because of the hit, he didn’t see the collision, but Slit, he knew, had. Slit was cheering, something about smearing that prey across the sand.  
  
As his car came to a stop, he revved the engine and finished pointing it at the collision, where two larger war-boys, an Elephant with half a trunk, and a Giraffe with three large bulbs growing out of his horribly twisted neck, were hoisting the vehicle up onto its wheels again for the wrecker to tow back to the Citadel. Quietly, the ferret raised his paw and whispered, “May the Immortan grant you mercy, Prey. May your sacrifice bring peace to the many.”

Above him he heard a tapping of claws on metal, “You little sap. C’mon, lets see what the titans left for us.”  
  
“Yeah, you go ahead. I’m good.”

Slit listened and hopped down, looking in through the windshield, “If he’s got any gnaw-sticks I’ll grab ‘em for you,” before hopping to the hot sands and rushing over to squeeze through the hole the occupant had been removed from. It was a slow action, deliberately taking his time while the chains were attached to drag the busted up car back to base. Everyone knew a Weaselton wouldn’t leave anything more valuable than chewed gum if he could carry it. And everyone knew Slit Weaselton was one of the best. After all, he was the only one who could authentically trace his ancestry back to Zootopia, before the collapse. And he ALWAYS had what you needed. He came back, dragging a sack of loot to the pursuit vehicle, and climbed up, strapping it down securely before squirming through the back window, “Alright, he had some. Chewed, but usable. I think he was using them for trade though. Wolves don’t gnaw.”  
  
Nux happily accepted the small pouch of wooden sticks, and took his time choosing one, sniffing carefully down the length and licking it at several points before deciding to chew on it. “Oak. I love oak. Thanks Slit.” He gnawed slowly as the engine revved back to life, and they started off, returning to base. Nux carefully stayed to the Right-paw side of the tow vehicle, ahead of the captured wreck, where it couldn’t accidentally break loose and hit him.  
  
  
–  
  
_My name is Furiosa. My mothers were Mary Jo Bassa and her mate. Stolen from the Many Mothers in the Green Place, I drive. I drive to restore my honor. I drive to restore my home. I drive to escape the monster who named me his Imperator. He does not know fear. Not like myself, or my Boys. He does not know what beasts he keeps, what true monsters lie beneath his furless paws. His downfall will be his pride. The very things he holds dearest to his scale encrusted foul heart, will be the very things to tear out his heart and show it to him, unbeating._ _And so I drive.  
  
_Furiosa looked out over her War Rig. One of the greatest machines in the Citadel, it was a titan, fourteen feet tall, with two powerful engines. Despite the immense size of the truck, it could not hold a bear. But for her, white furred, and short, a wolf stolen away from the Green Place, it was perfect. She grabbed the ladder welded to the side and climbed it, her prosthetic paw hooking on and clinking noisily. Her docked ear flicked angrily at the sound, the remaining flesh a furless pink.  
  
As she reached the door handle, a paw as big as her torso passed her and pulled it open. Quietly, she turned to look, eyes tracing along a long, brown furred arm, to a chest easily as large as an interceptor. “Ace, I can get my own door.”  
  
The immense Polish Bear’s voice rumbled like a V8, “I am your Ace. Your first-sworn. Allow me to help when I can.”  
  
“Fine. Can you check the cargo again,” she slid through the open door and settled into her seat, positioning her tail in the deep channel at the back, the tip curling around the outside. Her Ace closed the door far more gently than his size would suggest, before stomping back to the elevator. The tank was just arriving, and his massive bulk and stature allowed him to step onto the lift platform before it touched down. She calmly watched him grab the cling-rails and climb up. Her pulse quickened as he twisted the hatch release and opened it. His muzzle was obscured by the hatch, but she could almost hear his rumbling voice taking notes of the stock of foodstuffs before he closed and latched it, and moved to the second hatch. Her pulse slowed again as he stuck his muzzle into the second hatch, then drew back, locked that one, and moved to the third. That one closed and locked, and he padded back to the door to report. Water: One thousand gallons. Mother’s Milk: One thousand gallons. Guzzoline: One thousand gallons. Vegetables: Thirty five bushels. Dried Meat: Four rods.”  
  
She nodded. That odd number was significant, since the racks only actually held thirty bushels. That meant the true cargo was there. And four rods of meat was only enough to sustain four carnivores for a week. Which should be enough to get to the Green Place. There was only three carnivores she intended to take there. Herself and two of the unsavory cargo. Ace...was not included in her plan.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “...universal donor, Carnivore. That’s good. We were running low on those. Too many Salad-munchers.”

Max

The wolf awoke to a pinching sensation on his back, and someone muttering. “...universal donor, Carnivore. That’s good. We were running low on those. Too many Salad-munchers.” The pinching continued, and the wolf let out a snarl, claws scrabbling for purchase. He lunged forward, barely noticing the muzzle on his face as he cleared the floor and tore down the first hall he saw. A ghost of Goose pointed casually down an intersection. He blasted right through the illusory friend and into a chop-shop. His car. He cleared it in a single bound. It wasn’t running, he couldn’t steal it back. Goose pointed again, and this time he listened. Or followed his own mental illness. Or was Goose really there again? He slammed into the wall, let out a scream as he saw a young pup get run over by a truck. His own pup? Or someone he had failed to save? Or someone he succeeded at saving? He didn’t know. He roared in pain and rage as his new path changed direction and put him at the edge of a steep drop, “No.”

Goose. Goose couldn’t be there. Wolves couldn’t fly. Goose was standing in open air. He was following. His cuffs latched over a hook he might have seen, he might have passed it off as an illusion. It might still be an illusion. Was he still alive? He kicked as mammals with white-dyed fur grabbed at his paws. Were those real? What was he actually kicking? A blow to his head made everything go very white, and then very black.

__

Nux

A ferret risking the Organic Mechanic’s shop was an unusual sight. Many of the smaller mammals went to Toolbox instead, but Toolbox couldn’t fix everything. Toolbox couldn’t fix Nux’s headache, or his dizziness. And with Slit helping hold him up, it was clear Nux couldn’t go anywhere else. The Weasel scrambled up on the table, then pulled his brother up and set him down. The weasel looked around as Nux lay moaning, “HEY! My brother needs help!”

The Organic Mechanic was a Goat with snarled, black horns, who looked at Nux, lying there, and scoffed. “You’re outta luck pipe-cleaner. We’ve only got one bloodbag left, and he’s a feral. Unless you WANT to be loopy as a broken crankshaft.”

Nux wanted to respond, but he could barely lift his arm to grace the goat with his most offensive gesture. Slit took the reigns, and the words, “Fuckin doesn’t matter if he’s loopy. If he’s alive, he can get better!”

The goat chuckled, “Alright little pipe-cleaner, lets get you juiced up,” he picked both up and carried them to the cages, and carefully stuck a needle into Nux’s wrist, securing it with a thick leather cuff so he wouldn’t pull it. The other end went up into the cage, and into the neck of the blood-bag. The weasel stepped back and looked up, “Well shit...You’ll have blood enough for the rest of your LIFE with that sack...Look up...It’s a fuckin WOLF...”

__

Furiosa

The almost casual grace with which she linked up the trailer, and Ace hooked the air-hoses on, belied the nervous tension of the whole event. The fuel pod on the back added more weight, but less tension. Then it was time. The Imperator spoke calmly, echoing the words the false-god up on the pedestal spoke. Words about want, about waste, about hope and hopelessness. About rot and disease. Like he wasn’t suffering from his own. Like he was invincible. Like his Imperators were as loyal as his inbred sons, the results of horrific genetic experiments to create more of his doomed species.

She could see Rictus standing proud at his father’s side, air hoses pushing compressed air into his malformed nasal passages. The abomination couldn’t breathe without the assistance of the machine strapped to his furless back. It disgusted her.

Then the water was turned on. It splashed, wasted, off the rocks, as the poor scavengers tried to collect as much of it in their leaky buckets as they were able. Sickening. The false-god turned off the water, and she heard his voice echo as he finished his speech, her own lips involuntarily finishing it with him, the low rumble of Ace’s voice beside her window matching her, “But not too much, lest you become greedy and mourn its loss.”

She let out a chuckle that Ace didn’t echo, and watched as the massive bear pulled a pair of straps away from the ladder and sat in them, his bulk too much to fit inside the vehicle. The straps also allowed him to more easily get up on top of the tanker to inspect and instruct the assigned War-Boys.

__

Capable. That’s HIS name for me. Capable of what, I asked when he named me. When he pulled me from the pit to claim me as his own. He knew only what he chose to believe. He believed that he was the truth, the only leader. He was wrong. He is not a leader. He is a monster. Twice, I have seen his other breeders suffer to produce heirs. No longer can he torment Song, with her voice like fine china. Rictus saw to that when he was born. No longer is Joy under his thumb, her foul spawn indirectly responsible for her own, gravity assisted fate. And now, under the watchful sharp eyes of Furiosa, no longer are any of us HIS.

Inside the trailer, listening quietly to the commotion outside, the young Red Fox squeezed her tail. She was more scared now than ever before. Would he find them? Would he have them killed, or take them one at a time, planting his disease-ridden seed for the Organic Mechanic to fish out and try to force to work? What of Furiosa, their savior. What of Ace, the bear who said nothing of their presence. She could hide in the fresh tomatoes, but none of her fellow wives could. So she didn’t. It wasn’t bravery. It was stupidity. What if it had not been someone loyal to the Imperator? She would have been the first to die, standing defiantly in front. As the truck started moving, she fell back, curling into a ball under the shelf of greens and whimpering softly. It was safe to be scared. It was safe to hide. So she did. She hid from the world. From the noise. From her fellow wives. She was not the cunning fox of myth right now, not the capable warrior goddess the Monster claimed her to be when she sat at his table. She was a scared little pup.

__

Furiosa

The rig moved slowly through the sand blown over the road between the Citadel and the Bullet Farm, the apparent destination. Two buggies led the line, four bikes, and a pair of prerunner trucks, modified to be line-breakers. Calmly, she glanced up in the mirror, sharp eyes focusing on the reflection of the signal mirror. Telling the tower at the Bullet Farm that she was inbound, with an estimated arrival time. A time she wouldn’t make. As soon as the flashing stopped, she glanced out at Ace, “We’re not going to the Bullet Farm. This is a Raid. Go.”

The bear snorted. Furiosa couldn’t lie to save her life. Fortunately, he was MUCH more convincing. He gripped the thick rail running around the top of the cab and pulled himself up until he stood atop it, towering and visible to everyone for miles. Even the Citadel. But they wouldn’t hear him roar out, “CHANGE OF PLAN LADS! WE HUNT!”

Whoops, roars, and howls went out down the line as the rig made a hard turn that would have thrown the massive bear if he hadn’t locked his paws into the railing before making the announcement. The buggies moved forward into a pincer as the bikes fell back to take support roles near the rig. Perfectly positioned. The warboys on the trailer and fuel pod were suddenly much more alert. One poked his head through the back opening in the cab, “Boss, what are we hunting?” He was a clever one. A water buffalo with the bulb of a tumor on the side of his head, where it was pressed by his horn.

She smirked, “We’re hunting Flesh.” He pulled back like she had struck him with a wrench, but stood anyway, raising his arms in a confused manner. She knew he was probably thinking that all meat came from the Meat Market, run by the People Eater. It didn’t.

Carefully, she accelerated as Ace dropped back into his seat outside her door, “Ace, watch out for Buzzards. There’s supposed to be a lot of th...” she was cut off by his massive paw pointing up.

Pointing up at a red streak and a black streak rising from the Citadel. “Fuck. Tell the boys it’s backup. Or whatever. You’re better at lying.”

He snarled and climbed up, “Buzzards land. Keep sharp. Don’t let them ge...” the rig jerked suddenly, swinging him out away from it as an escort buggy suddenly no longer had a top, and was flipping into a pit. “TO WAR!” his howl was deafening as he clawed his way up onto the roof and grabbed a claw full of boom-sticks.

__

Capable

Fuck. What was going on out there? It was loud, and there was roaring, and she heard an explosion, curling up tighter under the shelf. Across from her, Cheedo hid behind a bushel of carrots, her tiny bunny body barely tall enough to be visible past the orange vegetables. Toast just sat against the back wall of the segment, staring. She was probably the least scared except for… “Splendid! Splendid, get your tail back here! You can’t go out there!”

__

Nux

“Hey!” The ferret’s paw held firmly to the wheel in his brother’s paw, far more so than anyone as sick as he was should be able to do, “My wheel, my car, I drive.”

“Not today, bro. Today I drive. You can’t even stand, you’re half dead!”

“I said!” The ferret lunged to his paws, snarling in his brother’s face, “MY CAR.”

“Fuck. You’re hooked to a blood-bag. The fuck you think you can do in a pursuit? We’re rescuin the Immortan’s WIVES...this ain’t a milk-run.”

Nux pointed up at the blood-bag in the cage above him, “Bring my blood-bag with. I’ll drive. It’s a feral. High Octane.” The ferret’s muzzle split in the sort of grin that had earned his brother the name Slit, “Fuckin Hunnerd Proof Crazy Blood. Think I can’t FUCKING GO!”

Slit smiled back, then raised a paw, “YO! Potter! Carry my fuckin idiot’s blood-bag. He’s gonna die historic. We both are!”

The boar stopped and grabbed the entire cage, hefting it and Nux, and stormed towards the bay where all the pursuit vehicles sat. As they reached it, the thumping of drums started. Both smaller mammals drummed on their body panels as the boar chained the wolf to the hood semaphore posts, “DOOF DOOF DOOF!” The cheer went up louder and louder as the door opened, revealing the source of the noise, the mighty Doof Wagon, crewed by, of all things, sloths. Slow, steady, but a war-pulse.

The Wagon tore off, led by Immortan Joe’s own Gigahorse, trailed by twenty of the fastest pursuit vehicles in the Citadel fleet.

__

Furiosa

Buzzards on both sides. That she could deal with. Ace working his short little tail off. Normal. War Boys dying on both sides as well. Not a bad thing necessarily. A Buzzard with his roof torn off, driving backwards in front of her. That was a problem. The hedgehog had a very large shotgun in his paws. And he was about to fire.

She ducked, expecting an explosion. She didn’t expect that explosion to be the car, as she plowed through it. Coming out the other side, she saw one of her escort buggies limping back as its front end fell apart. He must have rammed the Buzzard. Oh well, one less vehicle to get rid of later. She grinned fiercely and floored the pedal, locking it in place before standing up and sticking her head out the window to fire her crossbow at another Buzzard sneaking up on her. Broke the glass but didn’t kill the driver. “FUCK!”


	3. Chapter 3

Max

Strapped to the hood semaphore pole was NOT the way he wanted to die. He would greatly have preferred starving to death to being muzzled and sandblasted as the buggy tore across the sand. He snarled and thrashed against the ropes and chains, finally letting out a barely muffled roar of rage as a rock bounced up and slammed into his bad knee. At least they had left the brace on, so it didn’t do any MORE damage.

Nux

The wheels tore through the sand smoothly, and Nux had to grin. His blood-bag was howling up a storm on the front, and Slit, though much smaller, was echoing it loudly as they eased up beside the Gigahorse.

The ferret glanced to the side to see the massive Immortan looking his direction. Straight at him. Eye contact even, for a second. “He looked STRAIGHT AT me Slit! I am awaited!”

“He was scanning the horizon!”

“He looked right at me!”

“He was looking at your blood-bag...Dipstick. Focus.”

“I am awaited in VALHALLA!” Slit just groaned back at him, then grabbed tight to his perch as Nux raised his wheel up through the sun-roof and floored the engine. The pursuit vehicle roared forward, fire spitting from the exhaust as it pulled ahead. It would still be several minutes before the much faster pursuit vehicles could overtake the Rig, but they were shortcutting through the open sand, rather than weaving between rocks.

Furiosa

The sound of a deck plate moving made the wolf glance back into her cab, to see a gauze-wrapped Marble Fox poking her head up, “Fuck...Splendid, get back in the trailer. You can’t be up here!”

“I can’t BREATHE. None of us can. It’s too dusty in there!”

“Close the damn hatch then! We’re in a BATTLE HERE!” she gestured with her prosthetic out the window as a Buzzard leaped on and grabbed the window. Before she could respond, a massive brown paw swept across the window. The mirror and Buzzard both went flying, and she howled up at the roof, “ACE! I needed that mirror!”

The bear’s response was to let out a bone-shaking roar before leaping from the roof onto the boom of what looked like a digger bolted to a tow-truck. His thousand pounds of muscle and fat was enough to throw the truck off balance, but before he could recover and throw himself up onto the Rig’s side, the truck tipped over, smashing him into the defensive blades welded to the side of the tank.

“ACE!” She swerved away from the falling digger, seeing the now much redder, battered bear clinging to the foot-board, his own paws nearly dragging on the sand. His face was bloodied and torn, but he seemed more angry than hurt as he hauled himself back up with the aid of three other war-boys, a wolf and two elephants.

“Splendid, get your little white ass back in that trailer or you WILL die,” the Marble Fox twisted around and scrambled out of sight, leaving the panel open.

Capable

As Splendid’s head popped back into the trailer compartment, the Red Fox let out a sigh of relief and pulled her fellow wife against her tightly. Toast pushed the floor-hatch shut and sat on it to discourage any further expeditions, the Panda being much larger than the others.

“Why did you do that? What were you thinking? You could have DIED! And then where would we be?”

“I’m fine Capable...I just...I needed some fresh air, but there isn’t any of that out there.”

“Yeah...Just a bunch of blood and death and...Ooh...I think Ace is mad...” The raccoon sitting on the lettuce shelf, snugly between two baskets, flicked her tail as the roar echoed through the tank. “I can sorta see through this hole he...” She pulled back suddenly, falling off the shelf onto her ass, “HOLY SHIT!”

A name is earned. Ace: The first and best. A name granted only to those who Valhalla has rejected time and time again. My count is seven. Torn tendons, shredded ear, broken neck...They all made a stronger Ace. A stronger protector of the weak. I know my part. Today, Valhalla takes me. I cannot go to the Green Place. I do not deserve that honor, for all the evils I have been guilty of.

The massive Kodiak glared through blood-stained fur, one of his normally brown eyes oversaturated with red, a slash from his brow to his cheekbone just barely missing the precious orb itself. Citadel Pursuit vehicles were catching up. And he KNEW they weren’t here to help. Still, he had three more War Boys with him who hadn’t been killed or leaped onto Buzzards to get them away. More Buzzards were approaching.

He grabbed the last Boom-stick from the rear turret and handed it to an Elephant known as ‘Boss’. “Go with Immortan. Protect the Rig,” His massive paws lifted the elephant like he was a bobcat, and tossed him lightly onto a pursuing coupe he remembered coming into the shop just a day before. The elephant slammed down on the perch much harder, making the vehicle buck before the rev-head at the wheel got it under control. As the Elephant raised the stick in his trunk, Ace saluted him, and the Pursuit vehicle tore off to meet the Buzzards halfway.

The other Elephant didn’t seem to be in the mood to be thrown, and jumped of his own power onto the back of a Smash-Truck, burning himself on the blue flames just past the ends of the exhausts. And the wolf, Ace was about to grab him when the wolf was torn away from the Rig by a spear through his chest.

“Oookay then,” he stomped up to the cab and poked his muzzle through the sunroof, letting Furiosa see the deep gouges in his face and arms, “Rig’s clear...Not sure how much more I’ve got in me,” he tore off the necklace he always wore, dropping it on the ammo locker on the front passenger’s side, “Do not mourn for me. Just...promise me you won’t forget me.”

The wolf looked up, then to the object clinking down on the warm bare metal of the ammo locker. It was a steering wheel, or part of one anyway. Ace’s wheel, from his own pursuit vehicle, the last vehicle he ever drove. It was everything to him. She promised, tapping her chest twice, before raising her still natural paw to gently touch his muzzle. “Go in peace, but do not go gently. The true Valhalla awaits.”

He nodded, pulling back, and stepped out onto the tanker. Half of the front turret had already been torn off, but he ripped the other half up, breaking the poor welds and dented seams. The half of an old Vixenwagon Beetle made a nice shoulder-plate and shield for him as he started down the length, first trotting, then running, then he reached the rear turret and launched himself into the air. The pursuit vehicle that struck him didn’t even know what hit them, the front suspension caving under the added weight, driving the bumper like a plow into the ground. Without a word, he tore through the lancer on the back and braced himself for the hit he knew was coming.

Nux

Now it was clear how deep the treason ran. The Ace himself landing on a Pursuit vehicle just barely to the left of Nux’s own. Slit threw a Boom-stick, but missed, and Nux focused on the more important target, roaring ever closer to the Rig.

A Buzzard slammed into the back of his car, and Slit was suddenly in front of him, little claws scrabbling for purchase on the bare engine block. Barely missing losing his long tail to the radiator fan, the weasel looked past Nux, and snarled. Nux snarled back and grabbed the handbrake with his paw, and the shifter knob with his tail. In one smooth move, he ripped the pursuit vehicle into reverse, putting the Buzzard in view, and Slit reached behind him, grabbing a Boom-stick and flinging it through the broken glass. The Buzzard exploded violently, flipping around, and Nux spun back around, revving the engine again to make up lost distance.

Slit stopped climbing back into his perch when Nux suddenly let off the throttle, “What?” He looked behind him, “Ohhhshit...I really hope your blood-bag stays limp...” He turned and started untying the wolf, begging him not to freak out as he moved him to the back of the perch and tied him there. The blood-flow wouldn’t be as good without the height, but it was better than the nothing it would be if the bag died.

“Come on, come on. Relax. Stay calm. Nux don’t need any more crazy right now.”

Nux smiled. His brother did care. Too bad the Rig was still running, right into the storm. And he was still hopped up on crazy-feral blood. He pulled the sun-roof closed and started accelerating again until he was right next to the rig. “Come on Slit! Witness me. Witness my RIDE TO VALHALLA!” He screamed as he started opening the guzzoline tank in the passenger’s seat, dumping it onto the floor. “Slit?” He looked back to see that the weasel was no longer on the vehicle, and the blood-bag was no longer tied up either. “Fine. BLOODBAG, WITNESS ME!”

He pulled a flare out of his emergency kit and lit it on the roof panel, “TODAY, I WILL SEE VALHALLA!”

Max

Crazy fucker. Absolutely crazy. A flare. Guzzoline. Oh. He meant to blow himself up. Max snarled and started clawing at the sun-roof, trying to open it, “Nononono!” Finally, he changed tactics and slammed his fist through the back window to grab the flare. The ferret wasn’t able to stop him from taking away the flare, but in the struggle, somehow the Ferret managed to jerk the wheel and slam the front of his vehicle into the side of the massive rig they were chasing. The rig, as usual for a battle of that size, resulted in the smaller vehicle losing out. The wolf was thrown free of the perch, tumbling through the sand as the storm blasted overhead, the pinching of the needle in his neck not an encouraging last sensation before he blacked out. Goose hadn’t even showed up.


End file.
